


Chamomile

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barista Nursey, Chef Ransom, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, London AU, M/M, Pastry Chef Bitty, Slow Burn, discussions of racism, london setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 12:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Everyone was warned to stay away from Chef Oluransi if they didn't want to be immediately fired.  But Nursey was never the sort of person who followed the rules.





	Chamomile

**Author's Note:**

> So this is sort of...self-indulgent in a way, and the setting is based heavily on a job I had years and years ago working at a resort whilst I was at Uni. Trust me, it is hell, and all of the characters complaints about guests are 100% personal experience I've had with them. (and no pancakes aren't really a thing in the UK, and yes we use maple syrup for ice cream toppings and that's about it). Also Nursey's experiences being a frustrated bi-racial person in the UK are heavily based on my own.
> 
> I once did a UK AU headcanon post on tumblr ages ago, and I decided to just include that in this fic. So yay.

He could hear the raised voices in the kitchen—not quite shouting, but definitely not a professional level of speaking, and Nursey sighed, bowing his head near the register. He didn’t look up until he heard a soft knock on the side of the wall, and he peered across the bakery counter at the pastry chef who was coming in with the afternoon’s trays of petit fours, decorated in explicit detail.

Stepping back, Nursey smiled at Chef Bittle who came round the corner, hoisting the tray up on his shoulder, and they both froze when they heard something hit the floor in the kitchen, and then voices again.

“Chef at it again?” Bittle asked with a sigh, his Southern American accent thick from a long afternoon of being away from most people.

Nursey shrugged, edging backward in his small work space, doing his best to give Bittle room without knocking over the half full carafes of coffee he’d just finished brewing. “You know how Thursdays are.” And the, ‘and Wednesdays, Tuesdays, Mondays…’ went unspoken.

Another crash, and Bittle pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anyone have a talk with him at all? I mean, I know Hall doesn’t like to rock the boat when it comes to the chefs…and lord knows that helps my creativity, but this is a little outrageous. Who’s he hollerin’ at anyway? Tell me it’s not the servers.”

“Might be,” Nursey said. “In all honesty, I try not to go back there often. Really not keen on having my arse chewed.”

“Sounds like that man needs a nice cup of…what do y’all call it here? Herbal?”

Nursey snorted. “You’ll get it some day, chef.”

“Can we end that nonsense?” Bittle asked, waving his hand. “I’m not…I mean yeah I earnt my title and all that but good lord. If my old roommates in college heard y’all callin’ me chef…” He shuddered and shook his head. “Bitty is fine.”

Nursey felt himself blush a little, but he ducked his head and said, “Yeah alright. Bitty. Anyway yeah a nice cuppa…maybe chamomile. But I reckon it won’t do much for him. He’s wound tight and has been since I started here.”

“He doesn’t really socialise, does he?” Bitty said mournfully. “Pity. Maybe I’ll slip a pie in his office one of these days. You wouldn’t happen to know his favourite flavours, would you?”

Nursey snorted. “I’ve been here near three years and the most he’s ever said to me is that the coffee needs to be stronger, or that I’ve done an alright job at keeping the floors clean.” He crossed his arms, shrugging helplessly as Bitty gathered up the bags of the unsold morning bagels and buns which would be sent down to the employee cantina for the hotel staff to have on their shift breaks. “But you might want to ask Adam.”

“Catering head?” Bitty asked.

“Far as I know, they’ve been mates since birth or something.” Nursey adjusted the beanie which was not technically part of his uniform, but no one bitched at him about, and shrugged. “Only person that can actually talk to Chef without him having a go at their bollocks…or if he’s really in a strop, jugular.”

Bitty rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll just have to do some experimenting, won’t I. Anyway, good luck with those petit fours. I put maple in a few since we got that Canadian curling team in for the week. Might help to sell them.”

In truth, no one ever bought the petit fours. Occasionally, a guest’s child would be charmed by the décor and beg their parents for one, but Derek could count on one hand the number of days he sold one of the small cakes. And it truly was a shame—they were gorgeous and the attention to detail was almost absurd. But the hotel was happy to shoulder the cost of the waste in order for presentation. They had a reputation to maintain, so in the little coffee shop which Derek nearly lived at when he wasn’t in lecture or at the pub, had to be pristine and elegant. It meant displaying little mini-cakes with small décor and then watching them be either pitched at the end of his shift, or set out for the employees to sate their post-high munchies.

As Bitty began to arrange everything on the tray, Derek quickly turned to his espresso bar and whipped up a pumpkin spice latte. They didn’t often stock the syrup, since most of the people never bothered to ask for it. But they wouldn’t be outdone by the number of Starbucks their guests could pop in to when they hit the streets, and they stocked it during the autumn and winter season.

It was near spring, but they had a bit left over, and he had a large one ready to go just as Bitty tucked the empty tray under his arm. He grinned when Derek held it out.

“You are a dream,” he breathed.

Nursey laughed. “I’m something. Not sure I’d call anything I’ve done dreamy…but I hope it helps.”

“Considering I’ve got two weddings to bake for this weekend,” Bitty said with a shudder. “You have a good day, though. Maybe tomorrow I’ll make you a little something special. You got a favourite fruit?”

Derek laughed. “Apple.”

“See you tomorrow,” Bitty replied, then hurried out, leaving Nursey to his long shift.

*** 

It was just gone six when Nursey looked up from his book and saw a figure lurking in the doorway. His heart raced when his gaze fell on Chef Oluransi’s drawn mouth, and he hopped up from his chair, slamming his text and shoving it under the counter.

“Chef. Is there something I can…”

“I’m here til nine,” Chef said, like it was some sort of answer.

Nursey licked his lips, then said, “Chamomile?”

Chef’s eyes narrowed. “I’m here…til nine. Got in at half four. This morning.”

“So…coffee then,” Nursey replied.

Before the Chef could say anything else, another figure appeared. The light glinted off Adam Birkholtz’s wire-framed glasses, and he cast Nursey a quick smile before leaning in to whisper something in Chef’s ear. For the first time in a while, Nursey saw Chef’s face soften just a little, the tension ease from his shoulders as he whispered back.

Then he sighed, and turned back. “Bring it to my office when it’s done.”

“Okay but what…” The words died off Nursey’s lips when the pair of them walked away.

Well. Shit.

*** 

Half-shaking with nerves, Nursey clutched the coffee drink he’d prepared, along with a small plate holding one of the maple petit fours. As he’d been searching his small shop for inspiration, he had a vague memory of someone once mentioning that Chef had come from Canada. He’d been born there, then his parents had moved to the UK when he was in secondary.

He knew almost nothing about Canada apart from their love of curling, hockey, snow, and maple-flavoured things. It was by luck there was some maple syrup still in the cabinet left-over from when they’d done ice cream and shakes over the summer last year. He added it to the milk, frothed it, whipped up the latte, then added a sprinkle of vanilla sugar to the top.

At the very most, Chef would throw it at him, and at least Nursey’s reflexes were decent so there was a chance the scalding liquid would miss.

He bit his lip, creeping through the tense, silent kitchen, then down the corridor to Chef’s office. The door was closed, shades tightly drawn, but there was a flicker of light in the space near the floor. The name plaque—Justin Oluransi—was almost ominous, the white letters contrasting harshly with the black background.

Nursey tongued his lip ring, then shifted the plate to his forearm to knock.

After an eternity, he heard a gruff voice call out, “Come in!”

Nursey turned the knob, and hesitantly stepped inside. “Chef? I have your erm…” He gestured with the coffee and cake.

Eyeing the plate, the chef then motioned to the edge of his desk, and Nursey set it down. He saw the chef give the cake a curious look, and he just went for it. “So you seemed erm…tense? And um…Chef Bittle—er Bitty, I guess…whatever. Anyway he said he made these maple things for the curling team and I remember someone saying you were Canadian and…”

“Who said I was Canadian?” the chef barked.

Nursey jumped just a fraction. “Someone who was sacked a long time ago and is probably dead and buried and so going after him would be a waste of time?” he blabbered.

The chef looked at him, then the corner of his mouth twitched up. “Well…they were right. I mean, I’m not anymore. I got citizenship two years ago but…thanks for remembering, I guess? I haven’t had maple anything in ages.”

To Nursey’s great surprise, the chef pulled the plate over, then plucked the whole petit four with one hand, and popped it in his mouth. After a minute, he groaned and sat back. “Bloody hell. Bittle—he’s a huge pain in the ass and way too cheery, but damn his food is good.”

Nursey laughed. “Yes, sir. I can’t say I’m ever too disappointed when the cakes don’t sell and we get to indulge.”

The chef raised an expertly groomed brow, almost like a challenge, but he reached for the coffee without saying anything, and took a sip. After swallowing, he stared at the cup in surprise, then back up at Nursey. “Is that…”

“Maple? I thought it would…compliment the cake? If you hate it I can…”

“No it’s just…new.” Then, looking pained, he managed a, “Thanks.”

Nursey shrugged, feeling triumphant. He wasn’t sure anyone in the building had ever been thanked by the chef. In fact, even without it, it might have been the longest the chef had engaged anyone who wasn’t Adam. “No worries, sir. I’m…erm. Well. Any time, I guess. Anyway I should…” He thumbed toward the door, and the chef made a go-on gesture, and Nursey hurried out.

He most definitely didn’t want to over-stay his welcome, and he definitely didn’t want to try the man’s patience.

*** 

Pulling in a lungful of smoke, Nursey tilted his head back up toward the sky, his foot resting on the edge of the bench. The smoking area wasn’t ever the most pleasant. Even outside, everything seemed to be tainted with ash, and the stench lingered. But it was the one, solitary moment of reprieve from the inner workings of the hotel which Nursey could just exist, and not have to smile and be polite, and act like he gave any sort of shit about guest problems.

His last hour had been punctuated with fussy American women on holiday who were pissed off because the coffee wasn’t hot enough. Then it was too hot. Then they were convinced that the UK didn’t have the same sugar—in spite of it being fucking sugar. Then he had to listen to them wax poetic about how lovely the countryside was, but how unaccommodating London traffic was.

He kept it to himself, politely answered, “I don’t know,” when the woman had whinged about where her son could find ranch dressing for his chicken fingers. And honestly what the fuck was it with Americans and their ranch?

But eventually they’d fucked off, and Nursey had waved down Cait to take over so he could grab a smoke. His heart sank when he saw Will and Chris already seated, Chris talking animatedly and Will nodding absently as his thumbs tapped rapidly over his phone. He and Will had a sort of understanding—they didn’t like each other, but they tolerated each other when they had to. Will was in IT anyway so their paths only crossed when the PoS systems were down. Which, unfortunately, was a lot.

Chris, on the other hand, was one of Nursey’s favourite people. He was the front desk manager, finishing up Uni, engaged to Caitlyn and plotting some obscene wedding in Wales on her family’s property which was sure to be an incredible party if anything. 

Chris looked excited when Nursey showed up, and waved him over. “Come, sit!”

Nursey had already planned to do that, and took the seat furthest away from Will as he lit up and leant back against the brick wall. “Alright, C?”

Chris nodded. “Yeah, great. My mum’s coming in from Cornwall this weekend to have tea with me and Cait, and we’re looking at some flower shops, then she’s off to look at dresses during the match. Will’s coming this time. You want in?”

Nursey had been invited—and participated a few times—in Chris and Will’s community rugby matches, but he didn’t love it. He was good at it, but most of the time he’d rather sit in his flat and read—or stare at the wall—or sleep. He knew it was likely just his depressive episode kicking in, but he wasn’t in a hurry to knock himself out of it. His coursework was getting to be a bit much, and having his soul sucked out bit by bit by the Dementor that posed as a posh resort didn’t leave him a lot of motivation for things.

“I’ll think about it,” he answered, instead of saying no. He puffed on his smoke for a bit, then said, “C, how long you been here?”

Chris’ brows furrowed. “Erm…Well I got the job in lower sixth so…four nears, nearly. Why?”

“Was Chef Oluransi here when you started?”

Chris winced a little. “Oh. He was brought on a few weeks after my start. He was sous—Murray was still in the kitchen at the time, but he knew he’d be moving up in a few months. Why, did he yell at you today?”

Nursey shook his head. “Nah. I made him a coffee and he was pretty chill about it.” He stared at the glowing cherry of his smoke, then took another drag. “Was he always…you know…like that?”

At that, Will snorted and looked up from his phone. “Mate, you know for a fact the hotel does that to people. It’s only for the fact that Chowder’s a literal ray of fucking sunshine that a management post doesn’t fuck him up.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “This place isn’t that bad, William.” When both Will and Nursey gave him a look, Chris sighed and relented. “Okay it’s not the best, but it’s not the worst job, you know! It’s not like Nando’s. You should’ve seen the texts Tango sent me the other night when those white lads came in after the footie game. All pissed and belligerent screaming about his accent and how they couldn’t understand him.”

“Happens here,” Nursey reminded him. “Just…not as loud. Remember that white lady who found that little mealworm in the buffet mixed nuts? I had picked up Ford’s shift cos she had that huge paper due, and the woman started shouting at me about how just because that’s how we eat things in Africa, I can’t expect they’d do them here.”

“Oh right, because she was _white_ ,” Will groused. "Maybe it was because she was a yank."

Nursey gave him an unimpressed stare. “In my entire twenty-four years of life, only white people assume my parents come from Africa, William. And only white people would assume I’m not your standard hipster shithead from Brighton. I could spend hours ranting about the shit white people have said to me at this goddamn job. But I don’t. And I swear to fucking Christ I’ve had to endure your rants for hours because someone called your pasty Irish arse _British_ ”

"Whatever you say, Nurse. I'm not the one getting all riled up."

Nursey lifted a brow at him and said in the most chill voice he could muster, "I have never been rialed up by a white lady, ever in my life."

"Right," he drawled. Then Will stood up, shoving his mobile in his pocket, and sauntered away without another word.

Nursey threw the butt of his smoke near the bin, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, C,” he muttered, knowing how much Chris hated when he and Will had a go at each other.

Chris shook his head. “It’s…fine. I get it.”

Which was true. And one of the reasons Nursey liked him so much.

A long silence settled between them, then Chris asked, “So...why were you asking about the chef?”

Nursey startled, then laughed. “Oh. Hah. So like, he came into the café and asked me to make him a coffee. And I remember ages ago someone saying he was from Canada, so I made him a maple latte. Chef Bittle came by with these little maple petit fours…”

“Oh my gosh, I love Bitty,” Chris said. “He’s so nice. The other day I was feeling down after that Swedish Tour Group debacle and he made me an entire cherry pie! I asked him if all Americans from the south were so nice, and he just laughed and said, ‘bless your heart.’”

Nursey chuckled, knowing bless your heart was a tiny bit patronising, but also knowing Bitty didn’t mean anything by it. “I dunno, C. I’ve seen like…a lot of TV, right? And I think the Southern ones are kind of fucked up?”

“Isn’t it fucked up everywhere?” Chris asked, a little sadly.

Nursey shrugged, blowing out a quiet breath. “Yeah. Reckon so.”

"Bitty isn't though," Chris said with a shrug.

Nursey couldn't help but grin. "Nah. He isn't."

After another minute, Chris kicked at him under the table. “So what happened with the latte.”

“Oh!” Nursey scrubbed a hand down his face, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I think he liked it? I mean, he didn’t yell at me or anything. He was super chill and said thanks which I dunno if he’s said to anyone ever. It just makes me wonder like…was he always such a huge twat?”

Chris shook his head. “He was really nice when I first met him. Sometimes he and Adam would invite me to work out with them at the gym when I was doing overnights at the desk. He was always asking everyone about their day, and he seemed to be really happy. Then something happened. He was gone for like three months, and he came back and he was just…” Chris shrugged helplessly. “I asked Camilla, and she said it was a bad break up with Holtzy. That was when Holtzy got promoted out of the kitchen and into catering. It was hard to tell though. If they actually had a break up. I mean, they didn’t change much. They still talk all the time, and the chef is never, ever like that with Adam but…” He trailed off and shrugged. “He was just different after that.”

Nursey bit his lip. “Well it was nice to see another side of him today, I guess. Who knows. Maybe I’ll get lucky again.”

Chris laughed. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

*** 

The chef was out of work until Thursday, which much like they were for Arthur Dent—they were notoriously terrible days for Nursey. He wished he could understand it, but although it never failed to be complete rubbish, it was always something different.

Today happened to be getting knocked away from the doors as he was boarding the tube, forgetting where the hell he was and getting off at St Paul’s, then having someone’s baby sneeze directly in his mouth as he was yawning.

He was in the middle of trying to work himself out of an utter panic about what the child might have infected him with when he realised someone was standing at his counter, and his heart thudded against his chest when he realised who it was.

“Chef,” he blurted.

Looking a bit sheepish, almost shy in a way which was a strange look on him, the chef said, “You know I don’t actually prefer to be called that.”

Nursey blinked, then, as he really had no chill as hard as he worked for it, said, “Why does everyone, then?”

Laughing, the chef shrugged. “Title, I reckon. Or because Adam’s an arsehole and started some rumour that I wouldn’t respond to anything else. Seemed easier to just go with it. Anyway, Justin is fine. I mean…so long as we’re not in a staff meeting or something.”

“J-justin,” Nursey managed, tripping over the word only slightly, and feeling his face go very hot. “Okay. So. Hello, can I get you a coffee?”

“Why’d you offer me chamomile tea?” Justin asked instead.

Nursey blinked again, then let out a startled laugh. “Oh my god, I’m such an arse. I erm…well shit, you seemed stressed out, so I thought maybe you’d like something to calm your nerves. I really wasn’t trying to be a shit, I promise.”

The little flicker of smile on Justin’s face that Nursey had seen in the office bloomed into a full one. Nursey had seen it exactly six times, and always, _always_ directed at Adam. “I suppose that was nice of you. I think I’ll take a coffee now. Have you…have you got any of that maple syrup left?”

Nursey’s grin spread, bigger and more genuine as he ducked behind the counter and returned with the small bottle shaped like a maple leaf. “Is it true this is just as good as currency in Canada?”

Justin’s smile went a little smaller, little more coy. “Depends on who you ask. It was strange being here when I first moved, you know. Seeing it but only for ice cream topping? I mean, unless you had yourself an American or Canadian who knew how to do a proper pancake. But how often does that happen?”

“We have Chef Bittle now,” Nursey reminded him as he began to brew the espresso shots.

Justin chuckled. “Yeah. God he’s so…”

“Chipper,” Nursey said. “I bet he’d whip up something you like, if you asked. Maple tarts or something.”

Justin rolled his eyes, but there was no threat to it, and Nursey had to wonder if maybe this Thursday, when he’d slipped off the tube into the wrong fucking Station, somehow the world shifted. Like that bubble theory of different universes, so similar to each other, and sometimes when their bubbles collided, things traded spots. Like the Berenstein bears, or Chartreuse.

And now Justin Oluransi.

He finished the latte, adding a drizzle of maple at the top with a flourish, even though it sank straight into the latte, but he handed it over. “All we’ve got are buns and bagels until noon. Peckish?”

Justin shook his head. “I had a meeting with Hall a bit ago, so I’m sorted. But for this…” He tipped the cup up. “Cheers. Really.”

Nursey felt his cheeks get hot again, and he shrugged. “Yeah, no worries. Erm. See you later?”

Justin started away, but hesitated in the doorway, then turned and said, “D’you think it would be terrible if you brought me a chamomile tea later?”

Nursey laughed. “I’ll see what I can do, yeah?”

Justin tipped him another wave, then was gone, leaving Nursey stood in the middle of his small café, stunned, and more pleased with himself than he’d ever been.

*** 

It wasn’t that wandering round the back of house was frowned upon. It was a preferred method of transport for most employees as management didn’t want them spotted by guests, and employees didn’t feel like answering annoying questions.

So Nursey didn’t feel completely out of place as he wandered the corridors until he reached the pastry kitchen. He loved that area of the back of house. The intense smell of baking things, and the almost sharpness of castor sugar that seemed to float through the air.

Chef Bittle’s main area was for sweets. Through another door he had his other bakers working on breads and things that they’d use for the restaurant, but this area was Bittle’s domain. Nursey hadn’t come here often—just once or twice if the afternoon pastry delivery was delayed, or if Chef Bittle was caught up and couldn’t do it himself.

Today, however, Nursey was on a mission. He’d spent the afternoon googling Canada and baked goods, and he hadn’t come up with a lot he felt like he could trust as far as google was concerned, but he had one idea in mind that he thought Bitty could whip up without a lot of trouble.

He was halfway through the door when he heard voices though, and froze.

“And you can keep at it, Mr Zimmermann, but I still don’t think you’re funny.”

“That’s monsieur Zimmermann to you,” chirped the familiar, deep voice and heavy French accent.

Nursey came nearly face to face with the owner’s son, Jack Zimmermann, who was pink in the cheeks and looked like he was taking the piss—in a far more flirty way than he’d ever been with anyone. In fact, his blush deepened as Nursey stepped in.

“Oh god,” Nursey said. “Sorry I’m…I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just…”

“It’s alright,” Jack said, waving his hand. “I was just leaving Bittle to his _pecan_ pies.”

“Keep it up, monsieur, and see if I bake you apple anything ever again,” Bitty chirped in a terrible imitation of Jack’s accent.

Jack rolled his eyes, but there was no mistaking the hearts in them, or the pleased twitch of his lips as he slipped past Nursey and headed out. When they were alone, Nursey sagged against Bitty’s baking counter.

“I’m sorry. I have the worst timing possibly ever…”

“Don’t you worry about it,” Bitty said, waving his flour-covered hand. “He thinks he’s real funny, chirping me all the time, bothering me in my kitchen. It's a wonder I get anything done.” He sighed, looking happier than Nursey had ever seen him. “What can I help you with?”

Nursey bit his lip, then said, “Have you ever heard of a thing called nanaimo bars?”

Bitty raised a brow. “Sure. I’ve done them a few times. Why?”

It was clear by his tone, Bitty knew why, but he wanted Nursey to say it. “So like…the chef has been…dunno, kind of stressed? And I thought maybe having something nice from his childhood might cheer him up.”

Bitty’s smile was soft—a little knowing, but not unkind about it. “Has he said anything to you?”

“Erm, well no, not exactly. I mean he basically says fuck-all about anything to everyone. But he liked the latte I made him the other day with maple in it so…” He trailed off with a shrug.

“I think I can help out. How about tomorrow, when I delivery the pastries, I’ll throw in a few for him.”

Nursey felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “That’s…that would be brilliant. Thanks, Bits.”

The pastry chef smiled. “Any time, sweetheart.”

Nursey backed up toward the door, then stopped just before heading out. “And erm…sorry for interrupting. For what it’s worth though, I haven’t seen Jack smile like that at anyone since I’ve worked here. So…” He winked, then hurried off before Bitty could respond.

*** 

A few hours later, just as Nursey was heading off shift, he threw together a cup of chamomile tea with honey. He paused by Justin’s office on the way to change, but found the door open, lights on, and no one around. Feeling just a pang of disappointment, Nursey slid the tea onto the desk, and quickly scratched out a note on a bit of paper near Justin’s keyboard.

_Tea for the nerves. If it doesn’t work, feel free to come shout at me tomorrow. Have a great night. -D xx_

*** 

Nursey’s eyes had just slid closed, the chilly brick behind his head almost grounding, when he heard a voice from his left say, “You know those things will kill you, right?”

Nursey’s eyes snapped open, and he glanced over at Justin who was standing by a little awkwardly. He was wearing a stained white t-shirt, and his black chef’s trousers, but no sign of his coat anywhere. When their gazes connected, Justin strolled over and lowered himself to the other side of the bench, and Nursey leant up a bit, and dragged his lip ring between his teeth for a second.

“What are you, a doctor now?”

“Nearly was,” Justin said, startling Nursey. Justin laughed quietly. “It’s true. I was accepted to UCL, and finished my first year there before leaving.”

“Why?” Nursey blurted, then flushed and shook his head. “Sorry that was…but no really. Why’d you leave?”

Justin shrugged. “It was like…literally the last thing I wanted to do with my life. I was doing it because everyone expected it, and it was just…the plan.” He sighed and leant his elbow on the table. “But it wasn’t my plan, you know?”

Nursey puffed on his cigarette a moment. “What was your plan? Being a chef?”

Justin snorted. “Fuck. No, mate. That was not my plan either. I’d just been doing it for so bloody long, all through Uni, it seemed like the right idea to just...stay in it. I didn’t realise it was going to…” He stopped, and Nursey realised they were getting into incredibly personal territory.

“What sort of medicine were you going to get into?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.

Justin looked startled by it, but offered a small smile. “Sport medicine. Adam, you know. He was being looked at by Chelsea, and by West Ham. He’d done a couple of prospect camps and it was looking really good. I loved playing at Uni but I knew it wasn’t going to be for me professionally. But I wanted to be near him, so I decided it was the best route. Then he was in a car accident shattered his femur and suddenly everything was different.”

Nursey licked his lips, then just said, “Fuck,” making Justin laugh.

“Too right. Fuck sums it up. He fucked off to King’s, and I dropped out and started working full time in the kitchen, and he started getting into catering and then…” He hesitated, and just before Nursey could tell him not to worry about it, they could talk about something else, he said, “we started working here, and he fell in love with someone else.”

Nursey felt his throat go a little tight. “So you two were…erm…”

“Sort of,” Justin said. “I stupidly never really thought to define what we had. We just…were. Best friends who shagged each other, and I assumed it would just stay that way.”

“You in love with him?”

Justin’s eyes widened, and his jaw tensed like he wanted to tell Nursey off for a second, then he deflated and leant back. “No? Frankly the line blurred so long ago I couldn’t tell up from down about us anymore, and I didn't know how the hell I felt. Which was why he said we had to take a break. I hated him for it so much, so I took three months off. But I fucking missed him and couldn’t tell him no, and I couldn't say away, so here I am. And I hate seeing him happy with her, even though I know logically it never would have worked between us.”

Nursey blew out a huge puff of smoke, then said, “That’s fucking shit, mate. I guess it explains why you’re such an arsehole.”

Justin looked like he’d been slapped across the face, then he threw his head back and laughed. “This place will do that to you, I think. I don’t actually mean to be like that, you know? I’m not…fuck I used to be the most chill guy ever, but all of this was just…so much.”

“Sounds like you need a good shag,” Nursey said. “I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“Are you offering?” Justin asked, deadpan, expressionless.

Nursey felt heat creep up his neck and into his cheeks, but he didn’t drop his gaze. “Might be. Except isn’t that like…unethical. You’re my boss.”

“Technically I’m not. I’ve no say over the café and how that’s run. Couldn’t sack you if I wanted to.”

Nursey bit his lip. “Still, you’re management and all that.”

“So I am,” Justin said. “Worth a think though, innit?”

Nursey sucked in more smoke before flicking his cigarette toward the bin. “Might be. Should take a bit of time, I rec. Not something you want to just jump into. Because I’m not…” He shrugged. “I don’t do one-offs. Could never make those work. And friends with benefits is too complicated for me. But if you fancy a pint sometime, I wouldn't mind so much.”

“Can I get your number?” Justin asked.

Nursey grinned, reaching into his pocket, and slid his phone across the table. He watched as Justin put his number into Nursey’s phone, then send himself a text.

“See you later?” Justin asked as Nursey pushed himself up from the table and grabbed his phone.

Nursey grinned. “Yeah. I’ll be around.”

*** 

Bitty was true with his delivery of the nanaimo bars, and after tasting one, Nursey whipped up a latte similar to the flavour—which ended up being just very creamy and very chocolaty. But it was decent enough, and he waited until Ford came to relieve him of his shift before delivering it.

He took his time in the changing room, and dropping his uniform off at laundry. He popped into HR to wave hello to Larissa, then shuffled back down the corridor toward Justin’s office. The door was shut, light on, and Nursey knocked a few times, waiting with a foot tapping before Justin answered it.

He looked mildly surprised, but opened the door wider to let Nursey in. When it clicked shut, Nursey set the latte and sweets on the edge of Justin’s desk. “I looked up some stuff online and found nanaimo bars. Bitty whipped them up so I can’t take credit, but I thought they might…dunno. Help, I guess?”

Justin sank into his seat, and whispered, “Fuck,” as he stared at the plate. “I haven’t had them in…so long.”

“Yeah, I thought that might be the case.” He lowered himself into the chair, and crossed his arms. “So I fancy you and erm. Well I think I'd like to make a go of this. But I have a lot of shit to say first, before you decide if you want in. Full disclosure?”

Justin nodded, making a go-on gesture with his hand.

“I’ve got anxiety and depression. I see a therapist sometimes, but sometimes I just…can’t get out of bed and do anything about it. I’m a fucking hipster. I like coffee bars and slam poetry, and I’ll probably be a tweed-wearing, Frost-quoting, piece of shit professor at Kings one day. Or maybe I’ll end up in one of those granola, super white, alternative education sixth forms trying to convince kids that you can get by with only literature A-levels. Who the fuck knows. But I am who I am and I haven’t compromised that in years. I don’t date casually, I don’t fuck with white-boys, I grew up in Brighton so that will probably tell volumes on my meat-eating stance. I’m atheist, but my parents are Muslim and I always, _always_ fast for Ramadan because I cannot deal with that heart-broken look mum gives me if I don’t. I’m not sure I really want to hook up with my boss, but I like you for whatever reason, even if you’re a miserable fuck, and I’d love to get a pint sometime…if you think we could make it work.”

“That was…a lot,” Justin said, then laughed, shaking his head back and forth slightly. “But thanks.” He hesitated, and then said, “I don’t think I’ve got as much as you.”

Nursey shrugged. “So give me what you have got.”

"Okay," he said, and blew out a puff of air, crossing his arms behind his head, and leant back in his chair. “My idea of love is fucked up because I never let myself think I’d have anything outside of Adam. But now that it’s over I want more and I don’t know how to…reach for it. I don’t even know what I want to do. This job isn’t it. But it’s a decent placeholder until I figure it out, and Adam isn’t going to let me sit on it for long. He wants the best for me, and I still love him. He’ll never be out of my life and I can’t date someone who doesn’t get that. I don’t think we should date right now, because I might not be _your_ boss, but I am a boss…” Before Nursey’s heart could sink into rejection and disappointment, he went on to say, “But I’ve just given my notice so if you can be patient for two weeks…”

That startled a laugh out of him, and he nodded. “Yeah. I mean, since I just learnt you aren’t a complete arse, I think spending a little time getting to know you as friends could only help the situation, right? And I have a surprising amount of patience.”

“Alright,” Justin said. “So I was thinking... drinks on Friday.”

Nursey leant over the desk, propping his elbow on it, one eyebrow lifted. “Fine, but mates from work are coming. And you’re absolutely not allowed to Gordon Ramsay them. No shouting, no sacking. Deal?”

“What about if it’s Poindexter?” Justin asked.

Nursey groaned. “You too, huh?” He shrugged, then laughed. “And no. Because C likes him and I’m trying to be like…a better friend. Anyway if it gets bad enough, you can just drag me into the alley for a dirty snog.”

“Isn’t that breaking the rules?” Justin pointed out.

Nursey pushed up from the desk, then paused by the door and heaved a sigh. “Yeah. But I’ve never really cared much about those.”

*** 

Nursey couldn’t help the groan being pulled from his lips as Justin’s mouth worked a sensitive spot just under his ear. The alley really was disgusting, the puddle near his left foot looking very dodgy, like it contained some sort of bacterial compound that could create a zombie apocalypse or something. But it was hard to care when warm hands were pushing up his t-shirt, splaying flat along his ribs.

Opening his eyes, he caught Justin’s gaze on his, dark and intense. “I thought we were reserving this for if shit got weird. Wasn’t that one of the rules?”

Justin’s smile was wide as he dove back in, pushing soft kisses along Derek’s jaw, his collarbone, creeping back up for his mouth where their tongues slid together, hot and velvet-slick. When they broke apart, he pushed his forehead against Nursey’s and breathed him in.

“Yeah well, how could I resist when you were sat there looking so, fucking, ridiculously good I almost passed out?”

Nursey groaned and tugged at Justin’s front until they were kissing again, and again, and again. When they broke, gasping for air, Nursey thunked his head back against the brick and let his eyes slip closed. “How long now? Til you’re free of that hell and able to shag me?”

“According to the rules,” Justin murmured against Nursey’s warm skin, “Ten days and seven hours.”

Nursey pushed one of his knuckles to the underside of Justin’s chin, and lifted his gaze up. “According to the rules?” he repeated.

Justin nodded.

Nursey grinned, wide and a little sharp, then shoved his knee between Justin’s thighs, hitching their hips together tight, grinding down just a little. When Justin gave a small gasp, Nursey kissed him, then pulled back just far enough to say, “Good thing I don’t care about those then, eh?”

Justin started to laugh, but it was drowned in another kiss.


End file.
